Hot Pocket Zombies

I came out of the shower hungry; I quickly picked up baking smells wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. I dried my hair, pulled it back into a pony tail and threw on some jeans and a vintage tee. I bounded down the stairs and found my mom in the kitchen.

"Hey mom, what are you making?" I stood next to the stove, watching her.

"Pasties." She flattened out a piece of dough on the floured counter top. Surrounding the floured area are several bowls filled with slices ham, grated cheese, broccoli, slices of turkey, and chopped red and green pepper.

"What are pasties?" I asked, picking some cheese out of the bowl and tossing it into my mouth.

"It's a Scandinavian dish; you roll out some bread dough, fill one side with meat, cheese, and veggies and fold over the other side of the dough to create a pocket. Then you bake them in the oven." She folded one and placed it on the baking sheet with two others.

"So it's like a Hot Pocket." I said, pouring myself some milk.

"No, these are made from scratch and with fresh ingredients. Hot Pockets are made with processed mystery by-products in a dirty factory." She plopped another pasty on the baking sheet, slid the tray into the oven and set the timer.

"C'mon, you know they're good." I joked.

"Ah yes, one of the staple foods of the American college student: Hot Pockets."

"Of course; let's see, in a Ham and Cheese Hot Pocket you have your serving of grain, dairy, and meat. Sometimes you can get Hot Pockets with veggies in them, so there's your serving of vegetables."

"You're still lacking fruit." Mom warned, starting on another pasty.

"Well, if some genius would invent Dessert Pockets, we'd be in business! They could be filled with frozen fruit and chocolate sauce or ice cream or something."

Mom made a face, "Yuck. I'll pass."

"Your Hot Pocket-hating isn't going to stop me from eating one for lunch." I went to the freezer and took out my box of Ham and Cheese Hot Pockets.

"Great, now I have to smell that stink of burned rubbery cheese all day."

"Yummm!" I put the Hot Pocket into the microwave and watched as it puffed up in the sleeve and one end opened and a river of bright yellow cheese rolled like lava onto the plate.

"I'm ready mom." My sister Katie announced, coming into the kitchen.

"Ready for what?" I asked, pulling my Hot Pocket out of the microwave.

"Oh, shoot. Tina, would you walk Katie over to her friend Maria's house?" Mom asked, wiping her hands on her cooking apron.

"Whaggt?" I asked, mouth full of cheesey Hot Pocket.

"Please just walk her over there. I don't want her going alone."

"Moggom," I swallowed, "Mom, Maria's house is like two blocks away. Besides, she's thirteen, she's old enough to walk there herself."

"Tina, just do it please. Our country has been attacked by terrorists; they could strike at any time. Why, just this morning the national security alert bar has been raised to the pink level! There are riots in Paris; we could be next!"

"Mom, this is Denton; population seven thousand. There is no crime here, no one is pissed off. Where would the riots happen?"

"It's called Milwaukee, dummy." Katie piped in, tying her shoelaces.

"It's called 45 miles away, dummy." I retorted, taking the last swig of milk.

"I don't care, just walk her over there. You're not doing anything, besides, you can stand to get out and walk around at least once a week."

"Hey, I walk Maggie at least twice a week! Anyway, I'm eating my Hot Pocket right now." I said, taking a tiny bite.

"Eat while you walk. Now go!"

"God!" I cursed, put down my Hot Pocket and slipped on my shoes. "C'mon little baby." I picked up my Hot Pocket and followed Katie out the door.

The day was unusually warm for March; the sun shone bright but it wasn't blasting hot. In fact, there was a sweet breeze that smelled faintly of Lily of the Valley. Our subdivision is quiet; we walk a block without seeing, or hearing, another person—not even a car.

We have to cross the street so I snatch Katie's wrist and say, "Now little baby, since you can't walk to Maria's alone, I have to hold you hand and make sure you look both ways before you cross the street."

"Let go, Tina." Katie tried to wrestle her hand away from me, but was unsuccessful. In our grappling, she managed to grab a hold of my other hand—the hand that held my Hot Pocket. In a second, she had the Hot Pocket in her own grubby hand.

"Hey, no fair!" I said.

"You let go of my hand and I'll return your Hot Pocket." She smirked.

"Fine…" I let go of her hand and she moved to give me back the Hot Pocket when I added, "…baby."

"Uh-uh!" She said and took a big bite of my Hot Pocket.

"Nooooo!" I wailed. Katie gave me the half-eaten Hot Pocket back.

"That's what you get." She smiled and stepped out into the street.

A second after she stepped out, I heard a distant rumble and the earth seemed to vibrate beneath my feet. Not a second after I heard the rumble did I feel a shock pass through my entire body. Then the sound and vibration was gone. The whole episode took less than two seconds. I stood on the sidewalk, wide-eyed. Katie looked back at me with the same quizzical expression on her face.

"What the hell just happened?" I asked. "You felt that too, right?"

Katie nodded and slowly backed up until she stood next to me on the sidewalk. I looked around, there was still not a soul in sight.

"Let's walk out to Bridge St. to see if anyone's out there." We headed toward the busier main street but were horrified at what we saw.

There was chaos; cars and trucks were all over the road and off-road in crashes. I didn't see a single person, just wrecked cars. I ran over to the closest car; it had stopped by way of an oak tree. I peered inside, expecting a dead body, blood, and skull fragments, but weirdly there was no trace of a person ever being in the car at the time of the accident.

"Are they okay?" Katie asked, hanging back.

"There's no one in here." I went from car to car, hoping to find someone, "There's nobody!" I shouted back. I listened for ambulance sirens or other signs of human life, but replacing the chirps of birds, laughter of children playing, the smack of a basketball against the backboard, I heard absolutely nothing. An eerie never-ending silence. My breathing quickened, I spun around and ran back to Katie.

"What's going on?" Katie cried. "Where is everyone?"

Faintly, I heard a groan, "Shhh!" I whispered.

A few seconds passed before I heard it again.

"There!" I pointed, "C'mon!" We ran over to a city electrical truck where I saw a man sitting on a telephone pole, apparently he was working on the power lines, but now he was completely motionless.

"Hey!" I shouted up to him, "Are you okay?"

He didn't move. He didn't groan. He just sat on the little metal bars with his arms at his sides. As I moved closer I saw that his skin was extremely pale, his cheekbones protruded much more than usual, and his eye sockets were sunk so far into his head, it looked like two black holes.

"Oh my god." I whispered to Katie, "I think something is really wrong."

"What?" She asked, moving closer to look. When she caught a glimpse of the worker she screamed.

"Shhh!" I said, and backed away.

Too late, the man heard Katie's scream and shifted on the pole to turn and look down at us.

"Aggg…" he groaned. I stood frozen, transfixed by the horror of what I was witnessing. The man moved a little and tried to reach me. I didn't realize it at first, but he was trying to get my Hot Pocket, which I still clutched in my hand. His weight shifted on the pole and before he or we knew what was happening, he fell through the air and hit the ground on his head with a horrible snap.

"Oh God!" Katie sobbed, clutching her torso, "Is he…dead?"

"Stay back!" I said, cautiously approaching the lump. The man didn't move or make a sound. He was lying on his side, his neck twisted at an almost 90 degree angle. I bent over and peered at his face.

"Sir? Hello?" He didn't move. Katie screamed as one of the cars that crashed made an explosion. I glanced back at her to make sure she was okay. I turned to the fallen man; his face was extremely pale, paler than I had originally thought. It had the same transparent quality of Japanese rice paper. I could see several veins create ridges all over his face: purple and black veins. The skin around the man's eyes had a beaten blackish/blue hue. His was shriveled and cracked.

"What is going on…" I wondered out loud. Just then the lump emitted a groan.

"Shit!" I jumped back and grabbed onto Katie.

We watched as the man slowly pushed himself over on his back then grasped his head at the temples and with a sickening crack, straightened his neck back to normal. He coughed and sputtered up black bile.

"Oh God." Katie cried, "He's still alive!"

"No freakin' way! His neck was broken!" I said disbelivingly.

With grotesque slowness, the man sat in an upright position and looked at both of us. Katie screamed and hid behind me. His eyes rolled around in his head until they stopped on my hand—no, my Hot Pocket.

"Ugh! Here, take it, you freak!" I yelled, chucking the half-eaten Hot Pocket in the man's face. He grunted but before he could do anything else, I pulled Katie away and ran back towards home.

"What's happening?" Katie yelled as we ran.

"I have no frickin' idea but we're going to find out!"

We dodged past crashed cars and headed back towards home. I opened the front door and heard a beeping noise. We followed it into the kitchen where I recognized the sound as the timer.

"Mom?" I yelled. Katie called out and started searching the house. I turned off the oven and took out the pasties that were cooking.

Katie came back into the kitchen, "Where's mom?" she stammered.

"I don't know." I said quietly. I looked around the kitchen for some sort of clue, but besides the cooking ingredients, all I saw was my empty Hot Pocket box.

"What?" Katie asked, watching me pick up the box.

"I'm pretty sure I threw this out. I remember putting it in the garbage before we left." I turned the box over and looked on the inside. The only writing was for .50 cents off another box of Hot Pockets. Just as I was ready to toss it back on the counter, I noticed very small writing on the ripped flap: "When zombies attack please call 1-800-NOZOMBE".

"What the hell?" I said, showing Katie.

"Is that what that man was—a zombie?"

"Dunno, but you bet you ass I'm calling." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number. After two rings I heard an automated voice.

"Thank you for calling the Hot Pocket's Zombie Attack Hotline. For information on Hot Pocket Zombies please press number 1. For information on how to kill Hot Pocket Zombies please press 2."

I pressed number one.

"You chose number one: information on Hot Pocket Zombies. On Sunday, March 21, 2006 at approximately 2:27pm a malfunction at the main Hot Pocket manufacturing plant in Chicago created a microwave blast that spread (as far as we can tell) all around the world.